by B. B. Hamel
I turn and leave his office. I’m pissed off and can’t stand in there another second. I know I’ll say something I’ll regret and end up losing the whole thing.
I knew my dad was bitter about the Lofthouse family. I know a lot of folks in town are. Ever since the warehouse closed especially, people have been complaining. They live in their little manor like kings or gods, and we’re left out here with nothing… no jobs, nothing. They close their gates and take away the warehouse when it suits them, as if they don’t have the money to spend to keep it up and running if they wanted.
I understand those murmurs. I’ve felt the same way sometimes myself. But I know Lora, and she’s a good person. She also doesn’t have control over her family.
That would be her mother. The very terrifying Sylvia Lofthouse. I’ve only met her twice, and I hope I never have to meet her again.
As I get into my office, I take out my phone.
Me: When does construction start?
Lora: I could ask you the same thing.
Me: Please, you’re the one with a dream.
Lora: I don’t know. I think I’m cooling on that.
Me: Don’t. It’s a good idea. And I mean it when I said that I’d help.
Lora: Okay then, how about you come over and help me convince my mother to let us use the warehouse?
Me: Okay. When?
Lora: Right now.
Me: On my way.
Lora: Seriously?
Me: Seriously. See you soon.
I put my phone in my pocket and get up. Fuck my dad and fuck this town. I know Lora’s a good person and she wants to do something good for this place, so I’d better get off my ass and help her make sure it happens.
I hurry out to my truck and get in. It’s not a long drive out to the manor, but I’m nervous for some reason. When I arrive, she’s standing out there wearing tight black yoga pants and a low-cut tank top. I pull in and roll down my window.
“Hi, Dean Ashman for Lora Lofthouse,” I say. “I believe she lives here?”
“Sorry, sir,” she says. “There’s no Lora here. Just me, the friendly gate troll.”
“You do look like a gate troll, now that you say it.”
She glares at me then laughs. “Seriously, you didn’t have to come out here. I know you’re working.”
“Fuck working. It’s not too early, is it?”
“No, it’s fine. Everyone’s up and about.”
“Good. Let’s go talk to your mom then.” I say it and smile despite the chill running down my spine.
She hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She takes a deep breath then nods. “Okay… okay. Let’s do it.” She hits a button on the intercom. “Archie, can you let us in?”
The gate clicks open and slides aside. Lora gets in the passenger side and I drive us both up to the manor.
The place is enormous, like some ancient hotel, but there are little hints of modernization all over. Staff members in simple uniforms bustle about, and I know that about half the town works in this place. Only a handful of the Lofthouse family actually lives in this place, and it’s empty otherwise. I park and we get out, walking along the manicured lawn and up the wide front steps. She goes in through the main doors and into a huge atrium before taking the steps up.
“This place is a maze,” I say.
“When was the last time you were here?”
“High school. Like, early on. We had that science project, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. You wanted to do the volcano thing.”
“I still do. It’s awesome.”
“We were supposed to investigate magnets.”
I snort. “I forgot about that.”
“Right? We ended up forgetting all about the project.”
“We watched some movie, I think.”
“Yep.” She glanced back at me and I don’t say that I remember exactly which movie. It was Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I think I loved it, but I spent most of the movie dreaming about putting my arm around her.
We head down a series of hallways. I poke my head into a few rooms and spot a gym, a library, and what looks like a room full of broken instruments. “This way,” she says, prodding me along.
“Sorry, can’t help myself. There are so many rooms.”
“I know.” She frowns. “Sometimes I wander around and see if I can’t find a room I’ve never been to before.”
“When was the last time that happened?” I ask.
“Last week. I found a supply closet with just reams and reams of printer paper. Seriously, floor-to-ceiling printer paper.”
“Why do you guys have so much?”
“I have no clue. I’m sure someone put in a bulk order years and years ago, shoved it in a closet, and forgot all about it. This house is full of stuff like that.”
“Must be fun to live here.”
She sighs. “I guess. It feels… impersonal, sometimes. You know what I mean?”
“I guess.” I tilt my head. “But you have staff.”
“True.”
“I’m finding it difficult to feel bad for you.”
“Oh, try harder then.”
I laugh and lean against her as we come around a corner. We stop in front of some steps that curve up through the wall and disappear up into the ceiling.
“Here it is,” she says.
“Where is this?”
“My mother’s room,” she says. “She’s always in there. Painting, mostly.”
“Huh. I didn’t know she painted.”
“Nobody does really. She doesn’t talk about it. But she’s actually good.”
“Interesting. Your mother never struck me as the painter type.”
“What type does she strike you as?”
I frown. “Assassin.”
She laughs and starts up the stairs. “Yep, that’s about right.”
I follow her up. The stairs wind and wind, and I swear we go up at least three floors before we stop in front of another door. Lora reaches out and knocks a few times then waits until a muffled voice calls out.
She opens the door and steps up. I follow her, feeling oddly nervous.
I don’t know why. I’m a grown-ass man, but her mother still makes me uneasy. This is the power of the Lofthouse family, the real head of the house. Sylvia Lofthouse owns this town more than anyone else does. She has the power to see all my dreams come true, or to destroy everything my father’s built.
The room is cluttered with paintings in all different styles, stacked several deep, leaning up against the walls. Sylvia herself stands in front of a canvas, but it’s blank. She’s not holding a brush, just looking at the blank canvas with a frown.
“Hi, Mom,” Lora says. “I brought a guest.”
Sylvia Lofthouse looks back at me. “I know you,” she says.
“Hello, Mrs. Lofthouse. I’m Dean Ashman.”
“Ah, yes. The auto dealer’s son.” She tilts her head. “Call me Sylvia.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Mom, we want to talk to you about the empty warehouse on Spruce.”
Her mother frowns. “What do you want with that place, dear?”
“Well, I’m curious… What do you plan on doing with it?”
Sylvia shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest.”
“We were wondering…” I trail off.
“We were wondering why it closed in the first place,” I speak up.
Lora glances at me and frowns.
“That’s a sad story,” her mother says. “Suffice to say, it was outside of my control. This town is important to me, Dean Ashman.”
“I believe you,” I say, and I do, although I don’t know why.
She tilts her head and frowns. “Good. Thank you.”
“Mom, we want to use it,” Lora says. “Turn it into something for the community.”
Her mother laughs. “I suppose that’s not a bad idea.”
“We have a business in mind,” Lora says, stumbli
ng forward. “We think we can turn it into, like, an indoor fun park. Batting cages, roller skating, arcade, that sort of thing. Give people in this town something to do other than drink and drive trucks in the mud.”
Sylvia frowns. “Drive trucks in the mud? Is that a thing people do?”
“Yes,” Lora says. “It is, unfortunately.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It’s fun,” I say and both women give me a look.
“I suppose it’s a good idea,” her mother says. “The park, not the mud.”
“We’ll make it profitable,” Lora says. “Or at least break even. And since you own the warehouse—”
Her mother raises a hand. “I don’t own it.”
I frown and cock my head. “I thought you did.”
“No,” she says. “The Lofthouse family does not own that warehouse. That’s why I was unable to keep it open. However, the warehouse is for sale. I haven’t seen a good reason to buy it.”
Lora bites her lip. “I don’t suppose you’d buy it for me?”
“I don’t suppose I would,” her mother says.
We stand in silence for a long moment. I look at Lora and I can see the disappointment all over her. I hate that she’s not getting what she wants right now… and I want to give it to her.
“What if I can promise it’ll make money?” I ask her. “My father has connections with the community here. I’m opening a car wash soon. I’ll be involved from the beginning with this project and I can help guide it along.”
Sylvia shrugs. “That helps, but a warehouse is a very expensive piece of property. It would make more sense for me to purchase to then resell to Amazon or someone like that.”
“True,” I say. “But long-term, this would be better. It would be an attraction for Lofthouse… it might bring in more business from other towns.”
“A tourist attraction,” she says, her voice flat.
“Yes, I know how that sounds,” I say. “But Loftville could use a few tourist dollars.”
She nods once. “I see your point.” She sighs and looks back at the canvas. “I’ll consider it.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Lora says and nods at me. I step back and leave the room. I hear Lora say something else, but it’s muffled. She follows me out a moment later, shutting the door behind her. We descend in silence until we reach the bottom.
Lora turns to me and I’m surprised to see anger in her eyes.
“What was that back there?”
“Sorry?” I ask.
“That whole thing about you being involved like that’ll help.”
“I was just trying to make her feel better about that sort of investment,” I say.
“I can make that business work,” Lora says. “I didn’t need…” She trails off, clenching her jaw.
“You didn’t need what?” I ask, stepping closer. “My help? Because that’s exactly what you need.”
She glares at me. “I just wanted some moral support.”
“Oh, come on, Lora.” I reach out and touch her cheek, but she pulls away. “You want me involved because I’ve been in business. I’m not saying you’re not capable, because I think you really are. But you need me. Hell, I think you want me. And now you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
She clenches her jaw. “That’s not it. I just didn’t like the implication that I can’t do it alone.”
“I’m sure you could,” I say softly. “But let me help you. I can make things easier for you.”
She stares at me for a long moment then shakes her head. “It’s fine. I can handle it from here.”
I smile. “I don’t think so,” I say.
“What?”
“I’m not just letting you go. You did me a favor… and now I’ll do you one.”
She glares at me but her expression softens. “Still an asshole,” she says.
“And you love it. Now come on, take me out of his crazy maze.”
She smiles and leads the way. I get a nice view of her ass then follow along.
7
Lora
I spend all day thinking about what I want to do with that warehouse, even though I don’t own it yet. I can’t help myself. Even though the idea of opening some kind of indoor fun park never once occurred to me until a couple days ago, now it’s the only thing I can think about.
It feels good. For the first time in a while, I finally feel like I have a project.
Around three that afternoon, the phone rings. I’m sitting out by the pool and I answer with a little smile. “Hi, Shaun,” I say.
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad, just hanging out. How’s LA?”
“Oh, you know, making tons of money.”
“I watched the premier of Divas Go Postal. I serious never thought a TV series based around pretty girls doing mundane postal tasks would be entertaining, but here we are.”
“That one was my idea,” he says and laughs. “Klara wanted to do Divas Get Financial and have them running some like fake hedge fund. But I thought that was a little too highbrow for our audience.”
“You have so much faith in them.”
“Well, it’s true. Postal won out in testing, so here we are.”
“Not gonna lie though, Financial sounds insane. It’d be even better if their prize money was based entirely on how well they did selling stocks and stuff.”
“Oh my god,” he said. “If the actual money they get is whatever they earn? That’s fucking genius. I’m going to tell Klara as soon as we’re off the phone.”
I grin. “Better give me a producer credit.”
“Yeah, right. Go ahead and sue me, I dare you.”
I laugh and stretch my legs. “So did you talk to Mom recently?”
“You know I haven’t,” he says. “I avoid that whenever possible.”
“Well, I have exciting news. Sort of, I don’t know if it’s real or not yet.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m buying a warehouse.”
He laughs then stops. “Wait, really?”
“Really,” I say. “There’s an empty warehouse down on Spruce, I think they used to ship toilet paper? Anyway, I’m going to buy it and turn it into an indoor fun park thing.”
He lets out a breath. “Like, go-karts and arcade games?”
“Yep!” I say and laugh. “I know it’s crazy, but I was talking to Dean and he said—”
“Wait, Dean?”
“Sure, you remember him, from high school?”
“Oh, shit, Dean Ashman. The guy you had a huge crush on and never did anything about it, right? You guys were like best friends.”
“First of all, okay, yes, but it’s fine now, we’re cool again.”
“Right. Are you still pining for the one that got away, Lora?”
“No, don’t get me off topic.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“So the warehouse. I think it’s a great idea. There’s nothing to do in this town but drive trucks in the mud.”
“I won’t even ask.”
“I know, right?”
“Well, look, if you’re excited, I’m happy for you. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can pull it off, you can.”
“Thanks, Shaun.” I smile and sit up. As I stretch my neck, I catch some motion off to my left, over toward the house. I turn my head and spot Uncle Ron stepping out of the back door. “Uh oh,” I say. “Uncle Ron’s coming toward me.”
“Really? What’s that fat old fuck want?”
“Bye.” I hang up the phone just as he approaches. He’s wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt tucked in, like he just got back from a golf game. He’s thirty pounds overweight with a big bushy mustache and a perpetual frown, probably because his brother, my father, is the head of the household and he’s not.
“Hello, Lora,” he says with his fake rich guy accent. “How are we today?”
“I’m fine, Uncle Ron.” I smile up at him. He’s kind of a dick but Dad likes him, so he sticks around and basically lives here. His ch
ildren are awful and caused a whole bunch of problems a couple years ago, so they were basically banished from the manor. But Uncle Ron still sticks around, of course.
“I heard something interesting today.” He lumbers over to the chair next to mine and slowly sits on the edge. He lets out a breath and looks at me. “You want to buy a warehouse, or so I’m told.”
“Uh, yes, that’s right, Uncle Ron. The empty one up on Spruce. I plan on—”
He holds up a hand to shut me up and I stop talking. God, he’s such a prick, but I know better than to push him. That would only make this conversation even worse.
“Listen, little niece. I’m willing to help you on that front. I own that warehouse, and I’m willing to part with it on good terms, if you understand me.”
I frown at him. “My mother said we don’t own it,” I say. “She said—”
“Your mother doesn’t,” he snaps, annoyance creeping into his voice. “She has nothing to do with my warehouse. I bought it on my own with my own gains and money, and it is mine, not the family’s.”
“Oh,” I say and feel my heart sink.
This is going to be more complicated than I realized. Much, much more complicated.
Uncle Ron hates our family.
Well, that’s not totally accurate. He’s jealous of my mother and my father for having control of the estate. Uncle Ron thinks that it was criminal of his parents to pass him over and give everything to my father. And in a lot of ways, he’s probably right. He’s the oldest sibling, and so he thought it was all his.
But he wasn’t married, and so when it was time to pass along the family fortune, my grandfather named my father as the true heir and beneficiary. I suspect a lot of that had to do with my mother, but I can’t ever be sure. Her fingers are in everything that has to do with this family.
Still, he resents my father, and by extension, he resents me. I’ve always tried to be nice to Uncle Ron but he’s more likely to throw a ball at my face than to play catch with me.
I learned that one the hard way.
“As I said, I own it, and I am willing to sell it for a reasonable price. Would you like to hear my terms?”
I nod. “I would.”
“Good, very good. You have a lot to learn about business, but you’re off to a good start.”